When Jazz met Prowl
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: The sparks flew and Prime made a bet that Jazz is making sure he will uphold...  Bayverse AU


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R

(Crack, Ready, Set, Go! Enjoy!)

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><p>"Well, Hi, I'm Jazz" the silver mech grinned offering his servo to the tactical officer that he had literally ran into, both still sprawled on the ground, the other mech's data-pads surrounding them in a circle boundary, the golden opticked mech glaring up at him as he was straddled by the new TIC. "What's your designation?"<p>

"Can we please get pleasantries done after you have removed your aft from my stomach plating?" the mech replied coldly giving a not so subtle shove at the smiling smaller mech that had somehow managed to knock him over.

"Of course," the newest recruit chirped bouncing to his pedes with another charming grin, watching appreciatively as the Praxian mech he had accidently jogged into rolled to his pedes with a fluid grace that rivalled his own. "So what's your name mech? Are you new here too?"

"My name is Prowl." the mech replied coldly, his burning amber optics locking with the dark glass of Jazz's visor "Head Tactical Officer and Second in Command to the Prime."

"Wow, so you're pretty kick aft" Jazz whistled impressed that a Praxian of all frame types would be the fabled Prime's SIC.

"I've calculated a 99.98% chance you and I are not going to get on." Prowl said wearily staring the mech down in the middle of the corridor before bending down to retrieve his fallen data-pads.

"I can work with 0.02%" Jazz shrugged clasping his hands behind his back and biting his lip plate to prevent himself from giggling as the cute way the Praxian's wings twitched in annoyance.

"Very well, I shall take my leave of you, I expect you to be in the debriefing room with the other officers in twenty breems." The SIC glowered striding past the silvery new Head of Special Operations and focusing his attention back on his data-pads.

"Oh, someone's got a crush on Prowl!" a cheerful cocky voice came from up the corridor, focusing Jazz's attention away from the SIC's delectable aft that swayed in such an enticing way as he strode down the corridor and finally out of sight when he turned the corner. At the head of the corridor, peaking around the farthest corner was a silver mech, accompanied by a golden twin. "And it's the fresh plating too!"

"Goodie." the golden mech snorted sarcastically his arms crossed over his chest plates, his exotic helm fins flashing brightly under the lighting of the bland silver roof as he leant against the wall beside his presumed twin, both mechs watching him like something akin to a predator would watch a petro rabbit or a glitch mouse.

"Now, now mechs," Jazz said pleasantly holding up his servos as they pushed off the wall and approached, the taller silver mech's optics lighting up a gleeful bright blue. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just need directions to the Prime's office and I'll be on my merry way."

"Mech, you just willingly entered the madhouse." The gold mech sneered as the silver mech cackled his amusement to the deserted corridor. "Don't you know what that means?"

"I'm not going to be in the Prime's Office in twenty breems?" the small saboteur asked as the two front line warriors began to circle him, before the silver one dumped an arm around his shoulder firmly anchoring him in place.

The lithe mech grinned "Name's Sideswipe. And that mech over there is my lovely, sunshiny Twin, Sunstreaker."

"Touch me and you're toast." The gold mech snarled as Jazz reached to shake his servo.

"Well, what do you need me for?" Jazz smiled feigning obliviousness as he slipped under Sideswipe's arm and beginning to retreat down the corridor in search of a map, or the nearest sane mech to show him to the Prime's office.

"You see pal" Sideswipe said keeping pace with him annoyingly easy as they traversed the corridors, Sunstreaker tailing behind them with a smug glint in his cobalt optics. "Prowl hasn't had a good interface in, well… ever, I think. And here you come along, all bright eyed and shiny. Don't tell me you didn't see his optics checking you out."

"Oh and you did from behind the corner?" the new TIC asked wearily as he finally found the map of the base plastered on the wall outside the Security Room.

"Sunshine and I aren't in Prowl's good books at the moment. But we know his tastes," the silver front liner said casually, earning himself a smack over the helm from his temperamental twin. "Ouch! Sunny!"

"Don't call me Sunny, or Sunshine." the gold mech growled threateningly as the door to the security room hissed open, a titanic mech leaning out of the room to stare down at them impassively from underneath a cool ocean blue visor.

"And what are you two up to?" the mech rumbled as the Twins scrambled for an excuse.

"Nothing Inferno," Sideswipe chirped innocently grabbing a protesting Jazz's shoulders and steering him in his desired direction. "We're being good little bots and showing the new TIC around."

With that they steered Jazz in the direction of the Rec-Room, leaving the large red mech staring pityingly after the small silver mech sandwiched between the two infamous Twins before he retreated back into the Security Room. Jazz felt Sideswipe stiffen wearily as they spotted Prowl exiting the Rec-Room, trailed by a chattering grey mech that was animatedly waving his servos around in wild gestures as the black and white SIC scrolled through a data-pad, occasionally humming in agreement.

"Hey Blue!" Sideswipe called giving a shrill whistle, the light grey mech turning with a startled squeak to shutter his optics at them in surprise, Prowl looking up from his report to stare at the trio with a bored air, "Looking sexy today."

"Aren't you two supposed to be in the brig?" the black and white Praxian asked stonily in return as Bluestreak's light silver faceplates flushed an embarrassed stone grey, the SIC's data-pad being subspaced in favour of staring down the pair of Twins that had a fidgeting Jazz pinned between them. "And what are you doing with the new Head of Special Operations? He is due to meet Optimus in four breems."

"Just letting him know how much we love and respect you Prowl." Sideswipe said charmingly with a dazzling grin, ignoring Prowl's comment about his unpaid brig time.

"That's not what you told me last orn." Bluestreak said in confusion, tilting his helm as Sunstreaker made frantic servo signs for the gunner to stop while he was ahead.

Prowl cast his protégé an interested glance as the chatterbox of the Autobot army's voice tapered off wearily, "Indeed. Hand over the new TIC Sideswipe and I might persuade Ironhide that you weren't the one to fill his cannons with fluorescent tracking paint."

Jazz, unprepared for the sudden shove the silver swordsmech gave him stumbled ungracefully into the ruby chest plates of the Prime's Head Tactical Officer with a resounding clang as the Twins grabbed the bot named Bluestreak and took off down the corridor, leaving him with a faceplate full of shiny ruby chest plates that belonged to a growling Praxian mech that was likely taking offence to his personal bubble being invaded.

"Please remove yourself from my person." Prowl snapped, grabbing Jazz's scruff bar with his clawed fingers and began to drag him down the corridor, "And come with me."

"Wait!" Jazz cried as they stalked past the Rec-Room, the residents staring out at them in bewilderment, a brave few sticking their helms out of the door and watching them proceed towards the Prime's office with slag eating grins and snickers.

"Prime!" the black and white mech barked as the door to the extravagant office slid open with a welcoming beep, and bodily tossing the new TIC into the room before the startled Optimus who was dutifully filling out his forms.

"Ah, Prowl," the much larger mech greeted, his armour shifting down from its shocked flare, his warm deep bluebell optics dancing with amusement. "What can I do for you old friend?"

"You will brief Jazz on his new duties and the meaning of personal boundaries." Prowl snapped, pointing a clawed digit at the confused Jazz. "I will just offline him and jettison him into space with the garbage disposal if I tried to do it."

"Very well Prowl. Good Orn to you." Optimus smiled as the Praxian turned on his pede and left with a definite stomp, before the Prime turned to the bewildered saboteur before his desk. "I must apologise, Prowl can be quite… vicious at times, an unfortunate trait he inherited from his Decepticon Sire."

"Hey no complaints here boss bot." the silver mech purred, flashing the new Prime a denta baring grin. "I think I'm in love already."

"Jazz, the day Prowl stops threatening to jettison you into space with the garbage and agrees to bond with you, I will gladly eat my own audio antennas." Optimus said smugly as the new TIC sat across from him, the silver saboteur threw his pedes up onto the desk in preparation of his debriefing.

"You're on boss bot."

_**===Millennia Later= Autobot Base= Diego Garcia=== **_

"Better break out the Energon Sauce, Prime. Prowl said Yes." Jazz giggled as giddily as a school girl with her first crush, watching Optimus sulk at a public table in the Rec-Room, the flame decorated mech surrounded by curious human NEST soldiers and the excited Autobots that were squished into the corners of the giant recreational space. "Ratchet said it won't tamper with your systems too much, so chow down big guy."

"You're being insubordinate." The Matrix Barer scowled as Ironhide gave a sharp twist to the Prime's iconic audio antennas, both cobalt blue stalks breaking off with a cringe worthy screech before the black plated mech dumped them both on a giant dish that Wheeljack had been cohered into making several thousand years ago for this very occasion.

"You lost the bet Prime." Prowl encouraged from the furthest point of the Rec-Room, where Smokescreen and Bluestreak were indulging themselves in a game of Go Fish with him, proudly displaying 'L' symbols on his doorwings and what appeared to be a veil hanging lopsided from one point of his bright crimson chevron. "Anyway it's my Hen Night. Get chewing and remember to savour it."

"Traitors." The Prime sulked as Ironhide poured some High Grade onto the lonely antennas now sitting like neglected mozzarella sticks in the glowing blue gravy on their specially designed plate. The last of the Primes reached forward with a wince, picking up the sparking, energon covered antenna and bit into it with a whimper as Jazz cackled in the background.


End file.
